


a shadow whistles through the ghosts still left behind

by dumbkili



Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: Adelaide is Terrible, Auntie Whispers is Not So Bad, Based on a prompt from tumblr, and i totally mucked it up im sorry but there WILL be a bea & lorna friendship no fear, where the person wanted bea and lorna being friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-16 21:46:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3503936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dumbkili/pseuds/dumbkili
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beatrice offers herself in place of Wirt and Greg. Adelaide accepts. One day on an errand, she meets Lorna, and they become fast friends. In which there is mystery, adventure, danger, girls being friends, and witches.</p>
<p>Definitely going to have a lot of chapters. Completely unconnected to 'Different'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Original Prompt:
> 
> natashwarma said: idk lorna and beatrice hanging out in the unknown and sending bottle messages to wirt and greg?? they’re cool besties and find other kids in the unknown sometimes…
> 
> Actual Fic:
> 
> A convoluted mess that just barely fulfills this prompt

“I found two brothers lost in the woods, but I can't give them to you, Adelaide. They need to go home.”

 

“Nonsense!” said Adelaide dismissively. “I’ll give them a wonderful home here!”

 

Beatrice bit back a curse. She had come to bargain with Adelaide, to refuse her Wirt and Greg, and she had thought it would be easy, or at least, easier than this. Instead of the short talk she had expected, she was covered in soot and dirt, candle light was flashing into her eyes, Adelaide was being stubborn, and she didn’t know what to do.

 

The incense and the smoke from the fire made it hard to think. Adelaide was talking, demanding that Beatrice bring her Wirt and Greg as servants, and Beatrice had thought she would be fine with that but she wasn’t, not anymore. She had to think of a way out of this, but she couldn’t. It was all too much- the smoke and the smell and Adelaide’s nasally, awful voice. She couldn’t think of a good plan, so she thought of a bad one.

 

“What if _I_ became your servant?” Beatrice asked desperately. She could feel her tiny bird heart, already beating fast, speed up until it was almost a constant vibration. _That was stupid_ , she thought. She ignored herself.

 

“I need a big strong child!” Adelaide insisted, waving away the offer. A glint of gold in her apron caught Beatrice’s eye and reminded her of why she was here in the first place.

 

“You can turn me into a human, can’t you?” _That was stupider. You’re digging your own grave_.

 

Adelaide paused, and pulled the scissors from her pocket. Beatrice’s freedom, and her family’s, right there in the witch’s hand. Her claws clicked nervously against the wood floor.

 

“Ah, yes,” said Adelaide. “Scissors.”

 

“So do it,” Beatrice said, and if she had lips she would have been biting them nervously. “Make me human again, and I’ll be your servant.”

 

“Think before you act, child,” Adelaide said, looking down at her. “A contract with me is not something to be taken lightly.” The scissors glinted in the candlelight.

 

“I’m sure,” Beatrice insisted, and with every word she spoke she could feel herself becoming more and more certain. “I’ll work for you, clean your house, cook, whatever, I don’t care. Just- just help my family, and leave those brothers out of it.”

 

“Hmm.” The scissors snicked open and closed as Adelaide considered it. “Very well. You will cook dinner and lunch for me, clean my house daily, spin thread, tend the garden, mend my clothes, and run errands. In return for this, I will lift the curse placed upon you and your family, and provide you with room and board. Do you agree to these terms?”

 

“Can you make sure that Wirt and Greg get home safely?”

 

“Who?” Adelaide asked, and Beatrice realized that she had not even known the names of the two boys she was going to enslave.

 

“The brothers,” Beatrice clarified, biting back her anger. She suspected she was going to be doing that a lot in the future. “The brothers that I found in the woods.”

 

“Oh, yes, them,” Adelaide said dismissively. “Yes, yes, yes, in due course they will both arrive home safely. Are you happy?”

 

“What does ‘due course’ entail?” asked Beatrice suspiciously. This was her freedom she was bartering away, and damn if she wasn’t going to do it properly.

 

“Under a month,” Adelaide answered, annoyance creeping into her voice. “That’s the best I can do.”

 

Beatrice didn’t let doubt even begin to seep into her mind. “I accept the terms.”

 

“Then the deal is set,” Adelaide said, and raised the golden scissors high. “Let’s seal the contract.”

 

She slid the little golden scissors under Beatrice’s right wing and _snip snip snipped_ right through it. It dropped to the floor with a thud and a splat of blood. Before Beatrice even had time to scream from the pain, to move away, to do anything, Adelaide was already slicing through the other wing, and it fell too. Beatrice gasped as the pain hit her from both sides. She was confused, bleeding, and terrified, and that’s what the magic really needed in order to begin.

 

Beatrice felt herself stretch upwards, every part of her being pulled in every direction. Her face ached as her beak shrunk slowly back into a mouth, and bright red hair sprouted and fell in heavy waves around her face. She was dimly aware that she was screaming. She felt something pushing through the stumps where her wings had been and shouted as two new arms grew, identical to the ones she had had before. Her skin itched and prickled as the feathers dropped off of her in a blue-white-blood red circle around her feet- her _feet_. Not claws, not tiny bird legs- real, strong, human _legs_. Beatrice tried to take a step forward, and fell down immediately. Her center of gravity had drastically shifted, and she couldn’t find her balance. She knelt on the floor, surrounded by the remnant of the body she had been trapped in for months. She was human again, after all this time. She spread her pale hands across the dark floor and marveled at her fingers- all ten- and at her thumbs especially. She had really missed thumbs. Her screams were now hiccuping sobs, although she couldn’t tell if they came from pain or happiness.

 

Adelaide sighed, tucking the bloodstained scissors back into her apron. “Well, that was dramatic.”

 

Beatrice couldn’t bring herself to care about Adelaide’s blasé attitude. She ran her hands wonderingly over her calves, rubbed her elbows, and ran her fingers through her long hair. Her dress was the blue one she had been wearing the day she first transformed, and she felt the material, wondering in the feeling of cloth on her skin. She started to smile, and she ran her tongue across her teeth. They felt large and clunky in her mouth, but she’d get used to them. They were hers. This body was hers again. She touched her own cheek, brushed lightly against her eyelashes. She felt her ears (a little bigger than she remembered) and her chin (a little smaller).

 

“If you’re quite finished,” Adelaide interrupted, “There is one more thing we need to do.”

 

“What?” Beatrice croaked, her voice hoarse. She eyed the door cautiously. She was human now. She was taller and faster than Adelaide… if she could get her balance, she could swipe Adelaide’s scissors and get out the door before the witch even knew what had happened.

 

“This,” said Adelaide, and she bent down and grabbed Beatrice’s wrist. “The errands I will need you to make require a certain level of cognitive skill, so wool is off the table, but I can still make sure you never wander away.”

 

By the time Beatrice had processed that sentence, Adelaide had already looped a thick piece of red yarn three times around her wrist and tied it off.

 

“What’s this supposed to do?” Beatrice asked, tugging at it. It stretched, but not much. If she wanted to get it off her wrist, she’d have to get scissors. _Not a problem. The plan’s still on._

“It keeps you here. With me,” said Adelaide. “Go on, try to leave. I know you want to.”

 

Beatrice frowned, feigning ignorance. “I don’t-”

 

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, child! Do you think I’m brainless?” Adelaide exclaimed. “Do you think I don’t know that you aren’t going to run the first chance you get?”

 

Beatrice said nothing.

 

“Fine, do it when I’m asleep. Do it in three days, or ten years from now. The result will be the same, dear. You cannot leave without my permission.”

 

As if to punctuate her statement, a knock came from the door. Adelaide gave a little jerking motion with her head, and Beatrice remembered that it was her job now to answer it. She stood up unsteadily and pulled the door open, ready to tell whoever it was to screw off, thank you very much, because there were important things going on right now, and any business this visitor had could be left until morning-

 

“Hi,” said Wirt, standing on the doorstep with a very muddy Greg. “I’m looking for Adelaide?”

 

Beatrice closed the door in his face.

 

“What did you do that for?” Adelaide demanded. “Stupid girl. I have to do everything myself. And at _my_ age!” She grumbled all the way to the door (a scant five feet), and looked back at Beatrice for a second. “Is it those brothers?”

 

Beatrice nodded.

 

“Don’t tell them who you are.”  She yanked the door open. “Who are you?”

 

Beatrice stood further inside the cottage, watching. She rubbed the circle of yarn around her wrist nervously.

 

“Um,” began Wirt, thrown by the rapid opening and closing of doors. “I’m Wirt and this is my brother, Gregory. We’re looking for- I mean- Does Adelaide live here?”

 

“And have you seen Beatrice?” Greg piped up. “She’s our friend and she was taking us to you but then she flew off and we lost her.”

 

“I am Adelaide,” said Adelaide, adopting a simpering smile and sugar-sweet old lady voice. “But I’m afraid that there is no Beatrice here.”

 

“A-are you sure?” Wirt stammered, peering around Adelaide to look at the rest of the room. Beatrice avoided his eyes, although he looked at her curiously for a second. “She’s- she’s a bluebird. Very easy to, uh. To overlook.” His eyes slid back to Beatrice again. She met his gaze for a split second, and then looked away.

 

“No bluebirds here,” Adelaide insisted, beginning to shut the door slowly. Her voice became sharp for a moment. “And stop looking at the servant girl, she’s of no importance to you. You’d best run along.” Wirt blinked, surprised at the sudden change in tone, but in a flash Adelaide was sweet as honey again. “Try over the hill or across the river. Your bluebird friend might be there.”

 

“No, no, no- wait-” Wirt said. He put a hand on the door to stop it from closing, and Adelaide’s eyes flashed with irritation. “If you’re Adelaide, can you- can you help us? That’s why we came here in the first place. We need to go home.”

 

Adelaide sighed. She considered. Beatrice cleared her throat quietly, and Adelaide was reminded of the contract. She swung the door open again. “Yes, yes, alright, come in. I’ll help you.”

 

Greg cheered loudly and began to sing his Adelaide Parade song, but Wirt quickly shushed him. Beatrice almost smiled.

 

“Thank you,” Wirt said, bowing slightly, and he walked into the house. Beatrice felt her heart pound that much harder, and she grabbed a broom to avoid his eyes, which were once again on her. She began to sweep the cottage, scooping the dust, yarn fragments, and her own feathers into a small pile into a corner. She could feel Wirt’s eyes on her, but she did not look up. She hoped it was too dark in the cottage for him to see the bluebird feathers and blood littering the ground; he might get the wrong idea. On an impulse, she bent down quickly and snagged a couple of her old feathers from the ground, to keep as a memory. She concealed them in her hand and started sweeping again, listening in on the conversation.

 

“So,” began Adelaide, facing the two brothers. Greg was dripping mud on the floor. “You want to go home.”

 

“Yes,” said Wirt, the same stubborn ‘yes’ he had given Enoch in Pottsfield.

 

“What is home?” Adelaide asked. Both Wirt and Beatrice frowned. That seemed a little philosophical for Adelaide.

 

“I- I don’t-” Wirt stuttered.

 

“I mean,” Adelaide said exasperatedly, “What is home to you? What does your house look like, your town? Picture them, in all their details. Are you doing it?”

 

“Yes,” said Wirt, closing his eyes. Greg did the same.

 

“Really focus on it,” said Adelaide, moving to a cabinet and pulling out various powders and bottles. “Every detail. The windows. The carpet. The way the sunlight looks as it dances on your bedroom wall in the early hours of the morning.” She began to mix the powders into a big bowl. Beatrice stopped sweeping, entranced by the display of witchcraft. Greg peeked open one eye and closed it again quickly as Adelaide turned back around.

 

“Come on, boys,” Adelaide said, taking a pinch of the powder from the bowl and approaching Wirt. “What makes your home a home? What is it that you are going back to?”

 

Wirt frowned slightly, his eyes still closed. Adelaide smiled like a spider.

 

“There it is.” And she blew the sprinkle of powder into his face. He coughed and rubbed his eyes as she turned and did the same thing to Greg.

 

“What was that for?!” Wirt spluttered, finally getting the grit out of his eyes.

 

“It’s a guiding spell,” said Adelaide. She began to put the bottles and vials away. “It will make sure your feet take you where you need to go.”

 

“Just like that?”

 

“Just like that.”

 

“Can you make a guiding spell to help us find Beatrice?” asked Greg hopefully. Beatrice, in the corner, bit her lip and swept faster.

 

“No,” Adelaide replied shortly. “Now go, leave, find your home, or whatever it was you were looking for. You, girl, escort them off my land. You can go to the tree line, but no farther.” Beatrice gave her a slightly panicked look. “I’m a frail old woman!” Adelaide insisted. “I can’t go around pushing boys out of my cottage all the livelong day!”

 

Wirt and Greg were watching the exchange with interest. Beatrice sighed, deciding to cut her losses. She leaned the broom back against the wall and opened the door, gesturing wordlessly for Wirt and Greg to walk through it.

 

Wirt looked between Adelaide and Beatrice for a second, before he nodded once, shortly, and walked out the door, Greg in tow. Beatrice followed, letting the door close behind her. She began to walk to the tree line, hoping the boys would know to follow. She didn’t look behind her or speak; she wanted to get through this with as little cause for emotion as possible.

 

“What’s your name?” asked Wirt, and she cracked a little bit. Adelaide was inside the house, and she wouldn’t know if Beatrice revealed herself. Perhaps she might even be able to escape with Wirt and Greg, out here in the clearing. She stopped walking, turned around, and took a breath. She opened her mouth to say “Beatrice”, but nothing came out. She cleared her throat and tried again. She coughed. She tried to say “Beatrice” again, but with the same result. Her mouth couldn’t even shape the word. There was a block on her tongue.

 

“Don’t you have one?” Greg asked. His small child eyes met hers, and she tried, helplessly, to say her name one more time. She couldn’t. Adelaide had forbidden her, and so she couldn’t. She hadn’t realized that the witch would have such a strong hold over her.

 

“Don’t be silly, Greg, of course she has one,” said Wirt. “I-I’m sorry about him, he’s- well. He’s Greg, I guess.” Beatrice managed a weak smile. Wirt shifted his weight from foot to foot for a second, before he spoke again. “Do you really work for Adelaide?”

 

Beatrice nodded, and said in a whisper, so that he wouldn’t recognize her voice, “Yes. I just started.”

 

Wirt frowned. “Have we met before?”

 

Beatrice shook her head vehemently. “Please leave now,” she whispered. “Adelaide will be angry if you don’t.”

 

“Come with us!” said Wirt. “That lady doesn’t seem like somebody you wanna work for- I mean, I don’t want to tell you your business or anything but…. You can do better.”

 

“I really can’t,” Beatrice said, feeling her throat tighten. “I’m sorry- I just can’t. I made a deal.” She gestured helplessly to the string around her wrist. Wirt shook his head.

 

“No, we can do it. You can escape! With us!” he insisted, grabbing her hand and pulling her forward, towards the tree line. Her arm passed into the shadow of the trees, and the string around her wrist began to grow hot, and then to burn. Wirt pulled her forward more, and she hit a wall, an invisible force preventing her from going another step forward. The string burned against her skin.

 

“Stop!” she said, loudly, and for a second she froze, but Wirt hadn’t recognized her. She continued in a loud whisper. “I can’t.” She wrenched her hand away, took a step back, and then remembered what was inside her clenched fist. She uncurled her fingers slowly to reveal the two crumpled bluebird feathers she had picked up from the floor. Wirt gasped, quietly, and her heart clenched. Greg made a small sound of confusion.

 

“But Adelaide said she hadn’t seen Beatrice,” he said, staring that the feathers. Beatrice’s hand shook slightly.

 

Wirt’s voice was bitter as he said, “She lied, Greg.”

 

“She said she’s sorry,” whispered Beatrice, and she pushed the feathers into Wirt’s hands, curling his fingers around them protectively. “She’s not hurt. She said she’d be with you if- if she could.”

 

Wirt nodded woodenly. “Yeah, how many times have I heard that one?” he muttered, but he tucked the feathers into his pocket all the same. “Thanks, I guess.” He looked down at the ground. “We’re. Uh. We’re gonna go now.”

 

Beatrice took a step backwards, even as tears began to well in her eyes. “Goodbye. And good luck.”

 

“‘Bye,” said Wirt, and he took Greg’s hand in his, the two of them walking into the blackness of the woods together. Beatrice watched them melt into the shadows of the trees, and she let out a ragged breath. _That’s that._

“Girl!” called Adelaide from inside the house. “Put the kettle on!”

 

Beatrice took one last look at the forest, and went inside.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beatrice is sent out on an errand and meets two very important people.

The first week of her servitude was hell. Beatrice rose with the sun and went to bed late. She swept, she cooked breakfast, and she chopped firewood, all before eight in the morning. She had to do _everything_ for Adelaide, including fetching the old woman water or extra blankets late at night. There was a small side room in the cottage where she slept, with a bed and a dresser and a small desk, but that was it. The cottage was small, and there was always incense or scented candles burning. When it rained everything smelled of damp wool.

 

Beatrice hated it, of course. Adelaide was rude and demanding, the work was hard, and she was usually bored out of her mind. Trading herself for Wirt and Greg had definitely been the noblest thing she’d ever done, she reflected. But it had also been the stupidest.

 

By the second week Beatrice was getting antsy. She’d worked for this woman for ten days. She was fulfilling her end of the deal. But Adelaide had yet to free her family from their curse, as had been agreed on. Every time she would bring it up, Adelaide would give some excuse about the rain, or the sun, or the winter coming on, or, more often, would pretend that she hadn’t heard. It was maddening. She was stuck in an endless cycle of work and sleep and boredom, and she wasn’t even getting anything out of it. For ten. Whole. Days.

 

And then, finally, something happened.

 

It was a cold day, colder than any of the others had been. Beatrice banked the fire a little higher than normal to keep the cottage warm enough for Adelaide’s tastes. _Maybe some of this yarn will catch fire and the whole house will burn down_ , Beatrice thought hopefully, but without much conviction.

 

“Girl!” called Adelaide from her bed, shaking Beatrice out of her thoughts.

 

“Yes, Adelaide?” said Beatrice, but really she was saying “ _I hate you_ ”.

 

“I have an errand I need you to run,” said the witch, and she gestured to a small brown package on the bedside table. “I need you to deliver this to my sister.”

 

“You have a sister?” Beatrice asked incredulously. She stood up, walked over to the bed, and picked up the package. It was very light. There couldn’t be more than one or two things inside of it.

 

“Yes,” said Adelaide, a little testily. She did not like it when Beatrice asked questions. “She lives a few miles down the road, over the hill and then some. It’s a dirty little shack surrounded by nettles and snakes, who knows why she lives in that _squalor_ when she could be…” Beatrice stopped listening. Adelaide could go on for hours if she had the right thing to complain about. All you really had to do was look sympathetic and nod when she paused for breath.

 

Beatrice turned the package over in her hands a few times. Whatever was inside was packed in wool, either to keep it from being damaged or to prevent her from figuring out what it was. She sighed, tuning back in as Adelaide’s rant winded down.

 

“...And that stupid servant girl she’s got, too, absolutely useless she is, looks like she’s a day from keeling over dead. But never mind that. It’s a long walk. If you get there later than dusk, you may spend the night, but come home immediately afterwards. I can’t have you falling into a ditch or twisting your ankle in the dark! Who’d make the tea or chop the wood?” Adelaide looked at her sharply. “Are you listening to me, girl?”

 

“Yes, Adelaide,” said Beatrice. _I hate you._

 

“Hmm. Well then. Run along,” Adelaide said. “And don’t stray from the path or talk to anyone you see along the way, do you hear?”

 

“Okay, Adelaide.”

 

Beatrice quickly packed some food for herself in a basket- a couple of apples, some salted pork, and a flask of water- pulled on the coat she’d managed to snag from Adelaide’s old clothes, grabbed the package, and left.

 

A light layer of frost covered the dirt road. It melted away as she stepped on it, and as Beatrice walked away from the cottage she could almost let herself pretend that she was never going back. It was a nice thought, but she knew that it wasn’t true. She would go back. Eventually.

 

She made sure not to walk too quickly; she didn’t want to get there before dusk, so that she could have an excuse to stay the night. _Although… Adelaide’s sister could be just as bad as Adelaide herself._ Maybe staying over wasn’t the best alternative. Beatrice sped up a little. _But on the other hand.... Adelaide mentioned another servant girl. That’s someone to talk to, right? Maybe it won’t be so bad._ Beatrice slowed down again.

 

She alternated between fast and slow all throughout the walk, debating with herself. She was looking at the ground, thinking, when she walked straight into an enormous fallen tree, which was completely blocking the road. Beatrice cursed.

 

“What kind of idiot chops a tree down across a road?!” she exclaimed, examining the axe marks on the trunk. “Ugh.”

 

This seemed like a good resting point to stop and eat her snack, so she did. She leaned her back up against the rough tree-trunk and watched the last brown leaves tremble and fall from the trees. The pork was too salty and the apples were bruised, but it was better than nothing.

 

When she was finished, she walked over to the branches of the tree and peered through them for a few minutes, looking for a way she could climb through them without some extreme act of contortion. Carefully (and with many false starts), she edged through them, climbing over broken branches and sharp splintery bits of wood. Dead leaves crunched underneath her feet. Once on the other side, she brushed the wood chips off herself and sighed.

 

“God damn those woodsmen.”

 

She looked up at the sun, calculating. It was already setting, dipping down towards the horizon with alarming speed. “Crap.”

 

She set off at double-time, but she’d hardly gone a hundred yards before she reached a low stone wall, and beyond that, a decrepit old gray house. _That must be it,_ she thought to herself, and climbed over the wall, picking her way through the brambles and weeds. A light snow began to fall.

 

Once she reached the front door, she took a deep breath. _Hello, Witch Number Two._ She knocked.

 

Nothing happened.

 

She knocked again. There was the sound of steps from inside the house and a slightly accented voice called out, “Sorry! Sorry, I’ll be right there!”

 

A few seconds later the door swung open and Beatrice blinked. She’d been expecting a downtrodden sick little servant girl, of the kind Adelaide had described, not...this.

 

The girl was maybe Beatrice’s age or a little younger. She was a little pale and skinny, yes, but as if she’d just recovered from a long illness, not as if she was in the grips of one. She was wearing old fashioned clothes and a bonnet on her head. She was pretty, in a weird, big-eyed kind of way. And she also seemed to be wondering just what Beatrice was doing on her doorstep.

 

“I’m- um. I’m Beatrice?” she said. It came out almost like a question and she mentally kicked herself. “I’m looking for- well. I don’t know her name, Adelaide didn’t tell me- she’s a witch. Does a witch live here?” Nice going. You sounded really smart just then.

 

The girl smiled a little, and nodded. “You must mean Auntie Whispers. I’m sorry, she’s not here right now.” Beatrice huffed out a sigh. All this way for nothing? The girl saw her frustration and quickly said, “But she should be back soon! Why don’t you come in, have a cup of tea, maybe? It’s- it’s cold out here.” The girl paused for a second. “Oh! I’m Lorna, by the way.”

 

“It’s nice to meet you, Lorna,” said Beatrice, stepping gratefully inside. She looked around the house. On the inside it was much nicer, with a cheerful fire in the fireplace and various baskets on the floor and herb bundles hanging from the ceiling. It was a lot more homelike than Adelaide’s damp wool-smelling cottage, and Beatrice felt a little jealous. Why did this Lorna girl get the witch that _wasn’t_ obsessed with yarn?

 

“How do you take your tea?” Lorna asked, pulling the kettle off the fire and pouring two cups. Beatrice looked at her for a second. It had been a very long time since someone had asked her that question- bluebirds didn’t drink tea, and Adelaide wasn’t that considerate. Lorna looked a little nervous. “We- we’ve got some sugar left, I think. And some milk, if you like that.”

 

“Sugar sounds nice,” Beatrice finally said, sliding her coat off of her shoulders and looking for a place to put it. She settled on slinging it over the back of a chair, and sat down. “So… you work for this… Auntie Whispers person?”

 

“Oh, I don’t work for her,” Lorna corrected as she handed Beatrice her tea. “She is my family.”

 

“Really?” asked Beatrice, surprised. A witch having a family… That was unexpected.

 

“Well, she’s not my real aunt. She’s just been very kind to me, housed me, fed me… all- all that,” said Lorna, a little awkwardly, sitting down as well. They both sipped their tea in silence for a few moments before Lorna spoke again. “You’re actually the second person to ask me about that in the past few days.”

 

“Oh? Who else asked you?” Beatrice said. “I can’t imagine you get many visitors around here.”

 

Lorna paused and, for some reason, blushed slightly. “It was- it was nobody important. Just a couple of boys passing through.”

 

Beatrice’s heart skipped a beat. “Two- two boys? Brothers?”

 

Lorna blinked in surprise. “Yes, I believe they were. Did you know them?”

 

Beatrice opened her mouth to answer, but was cut off by the door latch shaking.

 

“Oh!” exclaimed Lorna, setting down her tea. “That’ll be Auntie. Oh- I should- I should tell you- she looks a little odd but she’s really very sweet, please don’t be alarmed-”

 

The door swung open. Beatrice gripped her teacup tighter, and the only thing she could think was, _Now_ that’s _a witch._

 

Auntie Whispers was _huge_. Not just in girth, but in height as well. She was very pale, paler than Lorna even, and her eyes were very large and yellow, with ragged black pupils. She was dress all in black, with the same white bonnet on her head the Lorna wore. She was extremely intimidating and Beatrice was suddenly worried that Lorna’s reassurances of ‘sweetness’ didn’t extend to unexpected visitors.

 

“Lorna, dear, I’m home- who is your friend?” said the witch. Her voice was deeper than Beatrice had been expecting, but her words were kinder. Lorna stood up and introduced Beatrice formally.

 

“Auntie Whispers, this is Beatrice. She says she was sent to find you by- by Adelaide. Of the Pasture?” Lorna turned to Beatrice for confirmation. Beatrice nodded, and Auntie Whispers made an annoyed sound. Lorna sighed. “Oh dear... I was rather hoping it wouldn’t be _that_ Adelaide…”

 

“She’s your sister, isn’t she?” Beatrice asked Auntie Whispers. “Shouldn’t you be- I don’t know. Close?”

 

Auntie Whispers sighed. “My sister Adelaide has let herself fall to wickedness. I do not have much interaction with her. Not anymore.” She sat down in the chair Lorna had abandoned. “If she wants me to help her with some plan, I am afraid I will have to decline.”

 

“No, no, I don’t think it’s anything like that,” Beatrice said quickly. “She just asked me to deliver this to you.” She pulled the small brown package out of the basket that had contained her lunch.

 

“Asked you? Or ordered?” Auntie Whispers said as she took the package. Beatrice said nothing, and Whispers sighed. “That’s what I thought. I do not approve of my sister’s methods of… hiring help.”

 

“She didn’t hire me. I volunteered.”

 

“Really? Who were you protecting? It’s always got to do with. Hmm. With protecting someone, doesn’t it?” Whispers looked at Beatrice critically, but when she didn’t respond, the witch shrugged and began to unwrap the package. She pulled out a few handfuls of wool before she got to the actual contents, and when she did, she gasped.

 

“She gave them to me freely…” said Auntie Whispers incredulously, concealing the object among the wool scraps and paper.

 

“What is it?” asked Beatrice curiously.

 

“You will probably not know what these are, nor the power they hold, but I suppose you can look,” Auntie Whispers said, and picked up the golden crane scissors, holding them to the light. Beatrice gasped. Whisper’s raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so you _do_ know them. You are full of surprises, Beatrice of the Pasture.”

 

“I’m not of the Pasture,” Beatrice protested, offended.

 

“That string around your wrist says otherwise.” Beatrice covered it self-consciously.

 

Lorna cleared her throat politely. “What- what _are_ those scissors, Auntie?”

 

“These are magical scissors, my dear,” said Whispers. “They have many properties, but perhaps the most stunning is the power to break curses. I’m sure our friend Beatrice here knows all about that, don’t you, child?”

 

Beatrice shifted uncomfortably under the combined weight of Lorna’s and Auntie Whispers’ gazes.

 

“Oh, come now, girl. I’m a witch. I’m not stupid. You reek of magic, and it’s not just my sister’s.” Auntie Whispers looked into Beatrice’s eyes. “You’ve been cursed, child.”

 

“You have?” asked Lorna. She didn’t seem scornful or frightened, only interested.

 

“Yes,” said Beatrice, after a long pause. “I have.”

 

“With what?” Lorna pressed, taking a small step closer to the table.

 

“I imagine something to do with animal transformation, if there was a cause for you to become familiar with these scissors,” Auntie Whispers guessed.

 

“I was cursed to be a- a bluebird. For…. a long time,” Beatrice said, looking down into her lap. _Why are you telling them all of this?_ she thought to herself angrily. _You just met them! You can’t trust them!_

But the thing was, she _did_. Neither Lorna nor Auntie Whispers were threatening or acted cruelly to her. They were easy to talk to, Lorna especially. She trusted them.

 

“And you used these scissors to free yourself?” asked Whispers. “You stole them from my sister? Or did she- Oh. I see. Your curse broken for your freedom, yes?”

 

Beatrice stared into her lap and did not speak. Lorna made a sound of sympathy.

 

“But,” continued Auntie Whispers, “There still remains the question of why she would send you here, with them, to me…” She lapsed into silence, looking at the scissors some more.

 

“Auntie,” said Lorna suddenly. “There’s a note.”

 

“Oh, so there is!” Auntie Whispers said, pulling out a small folded piece of paper. She unfolded it quickly and read it. Then she looked up at Beatrice approvingly. “You negotiated your terms well. My sister has given me these scissors on loan so that I can use them to free the others cursed in the same way, as you stipulated in your contract of employment, although it rather pains her to do it, I imagine.”

 

Beatrice sucked in a breath. _My family._ _She’s finally fulfilling her end of the deal._ She looked up. “And will you do it?”

 

“I see no reason not to,” said Whispers, re-folding the paper and placing both it and the scissors back inside the brown wrappings. “I’m going to go put these in a safe place. Lorna, is dinner ready?” She stood up and began to climb the stairs to the second floor.

 

“It should just about be, Auntie,” Lorna said, going over and checking the pot on the fire. She turned to Beatrice. Auntie Whispers disappeared into the darkness of the second level. “Will you be staying the night?”

 

“If that’s alright with you,” replied Beatrice. “It’s pretty dark out there.”

 

“Oh, it’s perfectly fine,” said Lorna. “I’ll make up a bedroll later.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

Dinner turned out to be vegetable soup and bread. Beatrice loved it, because it was the first meal she had had in a very long time that wasn’t maggots or that she had cooked herself. Over the meal they talked about the weather (“Getting a bit chilly, isn’t it?”), gardening (“This is a bad year for carrots”), and a myriad of other topics that flashed through the conversation like darting fish. It was extremely pleasant.

 

After dinner, Lorna rolled out a bedroll in front of the burning embers of the fire, and gave Beatrice several blankets and pillows. Auntie Whispers bid them both goodnight, and went upstairs to her room. Shortly afterwards, Lorna confessed that she was quite tired as well.

 

“It’s hard to stay up late, since- since my illness,” she confessed, blushing a little bit.

 

“What did you have?” Beatrice asked curiously, and then immediately felt guilty. “I mean- it’s none of my business. I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s fine,” said Lorna. “It was… it’s rather hard to describe, actually. I don’t want to go into the details right now.”

 

“Okay,” Beatrice said. “I really am sorry for asking. It wasn’t my place.”

 

“No harm done, really!” Lorna insisted, laughing a little. “I might tell you, one day. If you come back.”

 

She began to leave, but paused in the doorway to her bedroom.

 

“I hope you will.”

 

“I hope so too,” Beatrice said, and laid down beside the fire. She was asleep almost immediately, and did not dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> laughs for a million years oh my god haAH


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beatrice goes down into the cellar for milk and eggs, and that is definitely not what she finds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you hadn't already guessed, last chapter was set during the same day as "Babes in the Wood", so this one is during "The Unknown", which takes place the next day.

When Beatrice woke up the next morning, the first thing that she noticed was that her nose was cold. The second thing she noticed was that her hands were cold, then her toes, then her fingers. Actually, she reflected, her entire body was cold. Freezing. The smoldering coals in the fireplace had died down to barely a glimmer, and Beatrice hissed in annoyance. She stood up, wrapped in a blanket, and looked around for some matches or flint to get the flames going again.

Lorna found her ten minutes later, cursing her stupid shivery hands as she tried to get the kindling to light.

“Here, let me do it,” she said, bending down and taking the flint from Beatrice. She had the fire going in seconds, and Beatrice smiled gratefully. She hugged her blanket closer to herself and sighed.

“Ugh, thanks. Why’s it so cold, anyways?”

“I don’t- Oh,” said Lorna, looking out the window. “It’s snowing. Rather hard, actually.”

“Damn,” Beatrice muttered. She walked over to stand next to Lorna and gazed out at the blizzard raging outside. The snowfall was so think that it looked almost like a solid wall of whiteness was obscuring the world outside, instead of individual flakes. “How am I going to get home in this?”

“Just- You could- You could stay another day, if you’d like,” Lorna offered tentatively. A faint blush rose to her cheeks.

Beatrice bit her lip, considering. “I don’t know… Adelaide wanted me back by today. But I’m not sure if it was a direct order or not…”

“A direct order…?” began Lorna, but Beatrice shook her head. She covered the string around her wrist with her hand.

 

“I don’t want to go into details about that right now.”

Lorna recognized her own words from last night and gave a small nod. She turned back to the window. So did Beatrice. Together, they watched the snow fall for a few more minutes before Lorna shook herself and said, “Well, breakfast isn’t going to make itself, now is it?” She smoothed down her skirts and walked over to corner of the room that served as a kitchen.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Beatrice asked, as Lorna began to pull out ingredients and various pots and pans from the cabinets.

“Oh, um, sure,” said Lorna distractedly. She was trying to reach a big pan on the top shelf, but she was a few inches too short. “There’s- um. Could you get the milk and eggs, please? We keep them down in the cellar so that they stay cold.”

“No problem,” Beatrice said. “It’s through here, right?” She pointed to the door to Lorna’s bedroom.

“Yes, the door is- ugh come on- under the rug.” Lorna made a wild leap and snagged the pot’s handle, grinning in victory as she pulled it down. By the time she turned around, Beatrice had already disappeared through the door. Lorna began to lay out everything on the table, but something was bothering her, a little feeling in the back of her mind that made her feel as though she had forgotten something. She frowned slightly, trying to focus on it and remember. What was it… she’d already put the kettle on… the laundry had been done… _Oh, what_ is _it?!_ she thought in frustration. She stopped moving for a second and closed her eyes. _What is it, what is it, what is it…_

_Oh._ Her eyes snapped open. _Milk and eggs aren’t the only things we keep in the cellar._

In the blink of an eye she was running, careening through the door of her bedroom and down the steps of the cellar. A hopeful little voice in her heart was whispering that _maybe it’s all okay, maybe she hasn’t seen,_ but Lorna knew better than to lie to herself. She skidded to a halt at the bottom of the steps. Beatrice was standing stock-still in the center of the cellar. Her blanket was slowly sliding off of her shoulders, but she didn’t seem to notice. The candle she held was dim and flickering, but the light it provided was enough to see most of the cellar.

The cellar that was filled with hundreds upon hundreds of yellowing bones.

Lorna didn’t dare speak, or even move. Neither of them did anything for a few seconds. Beatrice had her back to Lorna, and she could almost allow herself to believe that Beatrice had not noticed her come in; in fact, she had slowly begun to inch back up the stairs when Beatrice broke the silence.

“Was it- did- Did Auntie Whispers do this?”

Lorna closed her eyes briefly, collecting herself. She let out a shaky breath and replied, “No." Then she opened her eyes and admitted quietly, "I… I did.”

Beatrice sucked in a breath, then nodded faintly. “I see. And are you- are you going to-” She stopped talking. She still had not turned around. Beatrice took a deep breath. “Are you going to kill me, too? Is this what you- what you do?”

“Oh, _no,_ Beatrice, _no_!” Lorna cried out, running back down the steps and reaching out the touch Beatrice’s arm. She flinched away. Lorna drew back just as quickly. “You don’t understand, this isn’t-”

“ _Then what is it_?” Beatrice hissed, as she finally turned to face Lorna. “Because right now it’s looking a whole lot like you lure people into your house with kindness and dinner and a place to sleep and then you _kill_ them!” She took a step back. Her heel knocked against a skull laying on the floor and she cried out in disgust and surprise. She paused as something occurred to her. “Those boys, Wirt and Greg- you said they came through here. Did you do this to them, too?! Are they down here?”

“How do you know their-”

“ _NO!”_ Beatrice shouted. Her voice was ragged with fear and anger. “You don’t get to ask the questions here, Lorna! We’re standing in your _bone-filled basement!_ You do NOT get to ask me how I know things!” She visibly reigned herself in, and looked directly into Lorna’s eyes. “Now _did you_ or _did you not_ kill Wirt and Gregory?”

“I _didn’t_!” Lorna cried. “I didn’t kill _anybody!_ All of this,” she said, gesturing around the cellar, “This _wasn’t me_. It was a spirit, it- it possessed me, it made me wicked, and- and…” she trailed off, looking at Beatrice with desperate eyes. “I didn’t do this, Beatrice. You _must_ believe me!”

Beatrice hugged her arms tight to her body, looking at the floor. “I…” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I don’t know what to believe anymore.” Her fingers tightened around her elbows. "Or _who_ to believe."

“You can believe me, and I can vouch for her,” said a voice from the top of the cellar steps. Beatrice and Lorna turned to see Auntie Whispers looking down on them, her yellow eyes almost glowing in the dim light. “The evil spirit did not give Lorna a choice in what she would do. It used her body, yes, but that was not Lorna. She did not wish harm on anybody, and still does not.” Whispers walked down the steps and stood in the center of the basement, between Beatrice and Lorna. It was a protective gesture, like a mother bear standing between her cubs and a hunter.

“The two brothers who passed through here excorsized the spirit with a bizarre combination of luck and intuition,” Auntie Whispers continued. “It is destroyed now, banished to a plane of existence very far from here.” She looked sternly down at Beatrice. “My Lorna has been severely weakened by this ordeal and I would appreciate you striving for a bit of sympathy towards her. Have I made myself clear?”

Beatrice nodded slowly. “I-It’s just. It’s a lot of bones.”

Lorna looked down at the ground with her fists clenched and her cheeks heating in shame.

“And I am sure that when you were a bluebird, you ate a lot of maggots,” Auntie Whispers retorted. Lorna’s eyes flicked back and forth between them nervously.  
  


“Maggots and humans are two completely different-”

“As maggots are to bluebirds, so are humans to spirits!” interrupted Whispers. “You cannot condemn something for doing what is in its nature!”

“I can if its nature is _murdering people!_ ” Beatrice insisted.

“Well, do that if you must, but at least know that that is not _Lorna’s_ nature that you are condemning!”

Beatrice fell silent. Auntie Whispers looked at her for a second, before placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Come now, dear, let’s all have breakfast. I think that this has been quite enough shouting for so early in the morning.”

Beatrice nodded once, and ran up the stairs two at a time, without glancing at Lorna. Somehow, that hurt more than the yelling had. Auntie Whispers huffed out a breath. Lorna felt tears rise, unbidden, to her eyes, and she made a choked little sound. Auntie faced her and took both of her hands into her own.

“It will be alright, my sweet. She will come to understand, have no fear.”

“But what if she doesn’t?” Lorna said, the tears finally beginning to slide down her cheeks. “What if she hates me now?” Auntie pulled her into a hug and Lorna buried her face in the folds of her black dress.

“It will come to a happy end, Lorna,” assured Auntie, but Lorna shook her head.

“What if she never speaks to me again, Auntie? I thought we were- I thought we were friends. Oh, she must hate me now!” Lorna sniffled loudly. “And she’s right to. I’m a monster.”

“Lorna, look at me,” Auntie said, and Lorna slowly lifted her head. “You are not a monster. You are not wicked. You are Lorna, and that is wonderful.” Lorna sniffed again, but a small smile crept onto her face.

“Thank you, Auntie.”

A few minutes later, they walked upstairs to find Beatrice sitting in a chair, tracing vague patterns on the wood floor with the toe of one foot. She stood up hastily when she saw them.

“I’m sorry, Lorna,” she said quickly, twisting her hands in the fabric of her dress. “I-I should have let you explain. It wasn’t fair of me.”

“No, _I’m_ sorry,” Lorna replied. “I should have been honest with you right from the start.”

There was a minute of slightly tense silence. Then Beatrice cracked a tiny, tentative smile.

“Friends?”

Lorna began to smile too. She held out her hand, and Beatrice reached out and shook it.

“Friends.”

Then Beatrice covered her face with her other hand and groaned.

“What is it?” Lorna asked with concern.

“I didn’t even get the eggs.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bea had to find out sometime, right??
> 
> Okay after today updates are gonna slow down drastically, 'cuz i have school, but I'm gonna try to stick to at least once a week. Thanks for reading!
> 
> I can be found on tumblr at dumbkili.tumblr.com


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beatrice leaves, with much hesitation and second guessing.

The snow stopped by twilight, but it was too late for Beatrice to go back home. She stayed another night, curled up on her side by the warm coals of the fireplace. She kept the poker close to her hand though, because while she trusted Lorna, it really had been an awful lot of bones.

 

When she woke up the next morning Lorna was already awake, carefully trying to get the fire restarted without waking Beatrice up. Beatrice watched her silently, still half asleep and too drowsy to speak. As Lorna tried to get the kindling to spark, she leaned forward a little too far and nearly fell into the fireplace. She caught herself at the last minute and landed on her knees, cursing quietly under her breath.

 

“That’s funny,” Beatrice said, yawning and sitting up. “I didn’t know you were capable of swearing.”

 

“You’re awake!” Lorna exclaimed, rocking back onto her heels in surprise. She blushed faintly. “I’m- I’m sorry about that.”

 

“It’s fine. I swear all the time, I’m sure you’ve heard me,” laughed Beatrice. She stood up and was surprised to find that she wasn’t anywhere near as cold as she had been yesterday. “Hey, is it still snowing?”

 

Lorna frowned as she stood up and smoothed down the front of her apron. “I’m not sure. I hadn’t checked yet.”

 

Beatrice walked over to the window and carefully peeked outside, then gave an excited whoop. The snow had not only stopped, but the snow on the ground- a good foot- had rapidly begun to melt. Little rivers and deltas of meltwater and slush crisscrossed the field outside the house, and the sun shone down brightly. Lorna joined her at the window and sucked in a little breath of surprise.

 

“I can go home!” Beatrice said happily, jumping up and down excitedly.

 

“Oh. Yes. Home,” said Lorna quietly. She suddenly walked away and busied herself with the fire again. It was crackling within a few seconds, but she stayed sitting on the hearthstones, staring into the flames absently. Beatrice frowned and walked over to sit next to her. They sat there for a few more minutes before Beatrice nudged Lorna slightly with her shoulder.

 

“Hey. You okay?”

 

Lorna sighed quietly. “Yes.”

 

“No, you’re not.” Beatrice had a sneaking suspicion as to what was going on.

 

“No,” Lorna agreed quietly. “I’m not.”

 

“You don’t want me to leave.” It was not a question. Beatrice was not one for beating around the bush.

 

Lorna frowned a little bit, annoyed that Beatrice had guessed so easily. “I mean- I know you have to. It’s just- you’re my friend. You’re my _only_ friend.”

 

“You’re my only friend, too. Well,” Beatrice amended after a second, “The only friend I can ever see again.” Lorna bit her lip a little, nervously. She seemed to be working up some courage.

 

“Will- will you-” she stuttered, then stopped. Beatrice waited patiently. Lorna closed her eyes for a second, opened them, and tried again. “Will you ever come back? Or write?”

 

Beatrice sighed, looking down. “Lorna… I want to, I really do, but… You know that I-”

 

“That you can’t promise anything, yes, I know,” Lorna interrupted. “And it’s all got something to do with that string around your wrist.” Beatrice covered it with her hand unconsciously, and Lorna huffed out an annoyed breath. “There you go again, always hiding it, never telling me what it means! I know it’s something bad, Beatrice, so why won’t you just _tell me?_ ”

 

Beatrice sighed, and turned the string around and around her wrist a few times. A log in the fire crackled loudly, and they both jumped. Lorna began to bite her lip again.

 

“It’s… complicated,” Beatrice finally said. “She never really explained what it is exactly but- it makes sure that I can’t run away. And that I do what she tells me to do. And. And that’s it, really.” She didn’t need to say who ‘she’ was. They both knew.

 

They sat quietly beside the fire for a few more minutes until a creak on the stair sounded through the silence. They both whipped their heads around, but it was only Auntie Whispers coming down.

 

“What’s this?” she said, looking down at them from midway up the steps. “Just sitting around? With the kettle not boiling and breakfast uncooked?” Lorna stood up hastily, shamefaced.

 

“I’m sorry Auntie Whispers. I suppose I lost track of the time.” She hesitated for a moment, almost but not quite looking towards Beatrice, and then disappeared back into her room; Beatrice supposed she was going to get the milk for breakfast, but wouldn’t put it past her to mope among all the bones.

 

Beatrice was still sitting in front of the fireplace. Auntie Whispers slowly finished walking down the stairs and loomed over her a bit, watching.

 

“What’s wrong, child?”

 

_Oh, no. I’m not having this conversation with you, too_. Beatrice stood up hastily. “Nothing.”

 

“Don’t lie to me,” said Auntie Whispers sternly, and cut Beatrice off as she opened her mouth to argue. “Oh, don’t bother. I’m a witch. I know when you are lying.”

 

Beatrice sighed in annoyance and shuffled her feet a little bit before saying, “It’s really nothing. Lorna and I are just… worried about keeping in touch. You know. Letters and all that stuff.”

 

Whispers studied her for a few seconds more before lowering herself into a chair and making a contemplative noise. “While I do agree that it is necessary for a young girl like Lorna to. Hmm. Maintain friendships,” she said slowly, “I do not think it will be possible for you two to send letters. My sister would surely notice, and she would not be happy when she did.”

 

Beatrice nodded woodenly, looking down. It had been no more or less than she had been expecting, but it still hurt to have a third party confirm what she already knew.

 

“However,” continued Whispers, and Beatrice’s head snapped up, “Since Adelaide has tasked me with locating and freeing your family… I should think I would need a bit of help with that, wouldn’t you?” Beatrice could feel a smile spread across her face. Whispers nodded slowly. “Yes… I think… I think I shall have need of you in a week. I’ll tell Adelaide so. Where’s my paper…” She looked around and in the pockets of her dress, but she could not find any. “Oh. It’s upstairs.” She got up and began to climb the stair back to her room.

 

Beatrice sat down heavily in the chair Whispers had vacated, grinning wildly. She was coming back! In just week, she’d be back here, in this little cottage with its fireplace and lack of a musty wool smell and… and Lorna. She’d be seeing Lorna again in a week. It was better than she had ever hoped for.

 

Speaking of Lorna, she was just inching through the door now, a jug of milk and four eggs balanced precariously in her hands.

 

“Oh, here, let me help you,” said Beatrice. She jumped up and walked over to Lorna, taking the eggs from her hand, as they had looked about five seconds from splattering all over the floor.

 

Lorna smiled slightly, and Beatrice ignored that her eyes were rimmed in red. “Thank you.”

 

Beatrice carefully placed the eggs down on the table and backed off to let Lorna begin breakfast. She watched her carefully slide an iron frying pan onto the fire, and crack in the eggs, one-two-three-four, with ease. Soon the whole room smelled of cooking eggs, and Beatrice realized that she was very hungry. When Lorna finally turned around and slid two sunny-side up eggs onto each of the two plate she had laid out, Beatrice’s stomach growled audibly. She blushed a little.

 

“Sorry.”

 

“It’s fine,” laughed Lorna. She sat down and began to eat.

 

Beatrice looked in between the two plates for a second, frowning. “Hang on. What’s Auntie Whispers going to eat?”

 

Lorna looked up, surprised. “Oh, she doesn’t eat. At least, not regular food. If she’s hungry she’ll have a turtle or two later.”

 

“A turtle…?”

 

“From the baskets,” answered Lorna in a matter-of-fact sort of way. Beatrice looked over to the baskets piled in the corner, and the small black head of a turtle peeked over the rim of one of them as if on queue.

 

“Oh.” Beatrice ate for a few more minutes before something else occurred to her. “Then why did she want you to get started on breakfast?”

 

“She just wants me to take care of myself. And of my guest, of course,” Lorna said, gesturing graciously with her fork to Beatrice. There was a few more minutes of silent eating before Beatrice couldn’t hold in her news any longer.

 

“Auntie Whispers says I can come back next week.”

 

Lorna dropped her fork.

 

“What?”

 

“She’s going to write a letter to Adelaide and convince her to let me come back next week!” said Beatrice, ecstatic. She was smiling, and after a second Lorna began to grin, too.

 

“Oh, Beatrice, that’s wonderful!”

 

“I know! I just gotta be nice to the old lady for a few days to make sure she doesn’t take back the offer, but-” Beatrice paused. “Ah, crap, what’s the time? I really gotta get going, actually.”

 

“I believe it’s just gone ten,” Lorna said, looking out the window. “Yes. You should- you should go.”

 

“But I’ll be back!” Beatrice reminded her. She leapt up from the table and swung the old coat she’d borrowed from Adelaide around her shoulders.

 

“Right,” said Lorna, smiling. “You’ll be back.”

 

“Are you leaving already?” asked Auntie Whispers, appearing at the top of the stairs again. An envelope sealed with black wax was clutched in one of her hands. She quickly descended the steps and pressed the paper into Beatrice’s hands. “Here. Give this to her. She won’t accuse you of knowing what’s inside or of forging it- that’s my special seal. Nobody may use it but me.”

 

“Thank you,” Beatrice said, tucking it into the pocket of her coat. “Goodbye.”

 

“Goodbye,” said Lorna. She smile was a little melancholy now, but it was still there.

 

“Safe travels,” bid Auntie Whispers, and with that Beatrice was out the door and on the road.

 

She did not look back at the cottage, instead preferring to focus on avoiding the pools of slush and piles of snow on the road and reminding herself that she would be going back there soon. When she reached the fallen tree, she sighed, thinking about the crawl through snow and ice-laden branches that lay ahead of her. However, as she moved closer to the tree trunk, she was surprised to find rough but deep notches carved in the body of the tree, forming a serviceable ladder.

 

Beatrice was suspicious, but she wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. She pushed up the sleeves of the coat and began to climb, the rough wood chips digging into her hands as she pulled herself up. She slung a leg over the top of the trunk and slid down backwards, landing on her feet on the other side.

 

_Well, that was easy._

She sent out a little thought of thankfulness to whoever had chopped out the ladder, and began walking again. Almost immediately, she noticed someone walking a few hundreds yards in front of her, dressed in black, their shoulders hunched down and their head hung. An axe was strapped on their back. She frowned, but decided not to catch up to them. She didn’t know them, and whatever they were doing on this back country road was none of her business. It quickly became clear, however, that she was going to pass them whether she wanted to or not. The person was walking so slowly that Beatrice would have practically had to stand still to keep any distance between them.

 

She soon drew level with them, and gasped when she saw who it was. She’d only seen that face once, briefly, backlit by a lantern and twisted into an angry expression, but she knew who it was. Wirt and Greg had told her who it was, well over a month ago now, as they’d ridden on a talking horse towards the Pasture.

 

It was the Woodsman.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay a lot was goin on this week 
> 
> sorry for the cliffhanger too!!
> 
> see u next sunday

**Author's Note:**

> wee-ooo haha i don't even know man natashwarma on tumblr sent me a cute lady friendships prompt and i was like, what if i added a TOTALLY UNASKED FOR PLOT to this?? what would happen?? this. this would happen, and did happen. im sorry natashwarma on tumblr. im sorry
> 
> creds to daveyjackobs for bein supportive + coming up w the title


End file.
